


This Old World Is A New World

by rosieeexox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Spy Who Dumped Me (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Double Agents, Kinda, M/M, Minor Character Death, Plot Twists, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Derek Hale, Spy Stiles, i've never been to europe please don't attack me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosieeexox/pseuds/rosieeexox
Summary: I watched "The Spy Who Dumped Me" and thought about Sterek the entire time and then found out there wasn't a fic already written so here I am. Tell me Sebastian didn't give you Derek-vibes so I can tell you you're wrong. I took some creative liberties but if you've seen the movie the plot is the same.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Matt Daehler/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	This Old World Is A New World

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd and Chapter 2 is coming soon!
> 
> EDIT: I don't want to spoil anything but this is 100% a Sterek fic.

It’s April 1st and Stiles just got dumped.  _ Is this a joke?  _ He had texted; which was a valid question considering it was April Fools Day. It was also his birthday, so...a doubly valid question, probably. He got no response, of course. Because Matt hadn’t even bothered to break up with him in person. Nope. He texted him. On his birthday. Stiles sighed and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He motions to Scott, who’s working the cash register three aisles over that he needs a drink. Scott gives him a very confused but very enthusiastic thumbs up. 

So, yeah. Not only did Stiles get dumped on his birthday, but he got dumped on his birthday  _ at work  _ and now has to work the rest of his shift sober. At least he has Scott. Scott will buy him shots after work. Lot’s and lot’s of shots.

“Wanna burn his stuff?” Scott suggests playfully.

Stiles thinks it over for a minute. “Actually-”

“I was kidding!”

Stiles manages his best puppy dog eyes, something he’s been able to perfect over the years of knowing Scott; who has literal puppy dog eyes all the time.

“Fine.” Scott relents.

Stiles tosses back another shot.

“Is that everything?” Scott asks, looking around the backyard.

“I think so, got the marshmallows?”

“I can’t believe you’re going to make s’mores over the fire that is burning your ex-boyfriends stuff.”

“It’s symbolic.”

“Symbolic of what?”

“I don’t know, I’m just hungry.” Stiles replies grumpily, snapping a picture of his fire pit filled with Matt’s stuff.

“Are you really going to send that to him?”

“Duh.” He hits send.

***

Matt is sprinting through the crowded streets of a busy city just outside Moscow when he feels his phone vibrate. He fishes it out of his pocket, still running, in the hopes that it’s good news. It’s not. 

It’s a picture, from Stiles. A picture of his stuff in Stiles’ fire pit, a bottle of lighter fluid sitting obviously posed on the edge. There’s no caption, but the message is clear. He sees the keychain from their trip to Arizona in the fire pit. 

He turns the corner and scales a nearby building. He hides quickly behind an air vent and presses the call button.

***

Stiles nearly drops his phone into the fire pit. It’s still unlit, but still. 

“He’s calling me!”

“Who?”

Stiles holds up his phone.

“Oh shit. Are you going to answer it.”

Stiles smirks and presses accept. “Your shit is already ashes.” He says into the phone. “So it’s too late for an apology.”

“You know your voice gets lower when you lie, Stiles. I don’t know why you bother. But I’m glad you haven’t burned it yet. I’ll be back next week, please don’t set anything on fire before then. Especially the key chain.”

“Why not the key chain?”

“It’s from my favorite trip of ours.”

“You had food poisoning and barely left the room. I hiked the Grand Canyon by myself.” Stiles says, his voice dripping with annoyance.

“Yeah, but you had so much fun. That makes it my favorite.”

“Whatever. If your shits not gone by Friday it’ll be ash. And I’m not washing the lighter fluid out of your clothes.”

“Thank you, Stiles. I’ll-”

Stiles ends the call before Matt can finish.

“So?” Scott asks hopefully.

“The s’mores will have to wait.”

Scott pats him on the back and heads inside. 

Stiles is painfully hungover the next day. Like, so hungover he can barely see. Somebody could rob the grocery store right now and he would have no idea. Wouldn’t even hear the gunshots over the pounding in his head. 

Him and Scott finished an entire bottle of whiskey the night before, after The Phone Call. Well, Stiles finished a bottle of whiskey. Scott supervised.

He’s barely keeping down the toast he had for breakfast and he can practically feel how pale he is, which is why he almost faints when the hottest man he’s ever seen approaches his register. He’s tall and muscular, his tan skin complemented by dark hair. Impossibly perfect scruff covering a scowly but beautiful face. The man places a pack of gum on the counter and Stiles tries not to think about what it would make the guys mouth taste like. They make eye contact as Stiles scans the item and he’s pretty sure it momentarily cures his hangover. 

“How are you doing today?” The man asks, and fuck, his voice is gravely and it’s doing things to Stiles’ stomach right now. Which would be great if it weren’t for the fact that his hangover is  _ also  _ doing things to his stomach right now. His stomach can only handle so many things. 

“Good, uh, yeah. Been better, but that’s what I get for hanging out with Jack Daniels last night.”

The man looks confused for a second and Stiles mentally slaps himself in the face.

“Anyway, that’ll be a dollar twenty-nine.”

Their fingers brush when Stiles reaches for the money being handed to him and the stranger looks at him with a slight smirk on his face.

“Would you mind helping me carry my stuff out to the car?”

“What? But you only got- Oh! Yeah, yes.” Stiles nods dumbly and moves out from behind the register. He gestures for the hot stranger to lead the way. Stiles is  _ so  _ thankful he brushed his teeth this morning. He is totally going to makeout with this guy in his car. Hell, depending on where the dude parked he might even be up for a quicky. 

He’s just about to casually ask Hot Stranger if he comes here often, a subtle line that almost never works, when he’s being spun around. He opens his mouth to laugh, but it turns into a gasp when the Hot Strangers van door opens and reveals another attractive man. Holding a gun.

“What the fuck?”

“Get in.” Hot Stranger practically growls it at him.

Reluctantly, Stiles gets in the van. “I can’t believe I was willing to makeout with you in your car.”

The man with the gun chuckles.

“Are you Mie-” Hot Stranger pauses.

“Please just call me Stiles. Listening to you butcher my first name right before you butcher me sounds like the worst way to go.”

“We’re not going to kill you.” Hot Stranger says, not at all convincing.

“Well, probably not.” Hot Guy with a Gun adds.

“I’m Derek Hale. This is my uncle, Peter. We work for the CIA.”

Stiles is pretty sure his brain short circuits. 

“Matt Daehler works for the CIA but he’s missing, have you heard from him?”

“No.”

Peter looks at him, unconvinced.

“Maybe.”

They both stare at him silently, but Derek’s eyebrows are definitely pointing a gun at him.

“He called me yesterday after I sent him a picture of me about to burn his stuff. He told me not to and promised to come pick them up next week.”

“Interesting. May I see the picture?”

Stiles unlocks his phone and hands it to Peter. The two men exchange a look and hand the phone back wordlessly.

“If he comes back, give us a call.” Derek says, his voice suggesting it’s not a request.

“Is this, uh, your number or your uncles? Cause that’s really gonna determine whether or not I call.”

“Which would you prefer?” Peter smirks.

“I actually don’t know.”

They open the door and make no move to stop Stiles as he gets out and walks back into the grocery store.

Stiles wish he could say he was surprised to find Matt sitting on his front porch when he got home. He’s relieved until he remembers being held at literal gunpoint in the parking lot of his job not 6 hours earlier. He slams the door behind him, not allowing Matt to follow him inside.

“Stiles…”

He opens the door a minute later, shoving a cardboard box into Matt’s hands.

“It’s all in there.”

Matt places the box on the ground and begins digging through it. He pulls out the keychain and Stiles scoffs. 

“You didn’t really have food poisoning, did you?”

“What?”

“Your CIA friends momentarily kidnapped me at work today and told me you’re an agent.”

“CIA? Who was it?”

Before Stiles can respond, gunfire fills the air. Matt pushes Stiles inside the house in an instant, knocking them both to the floor. On instinct, Stiles army crawls his way to the back of the house, just as Scott rounds the corner, looking terrified.

“Get down!” Matt yells.

Scott ducks behind the kitchen counter.

“Stiles, listen to me.” Matt says, grabbing Stiles’ face in his hands.

“Matt, what the fuck is going on?” He can feel the beginning of a panic attack, held off only by the pride that he’s not already catatonic. 

“If anything happens to me, you need to go to Vienna. There’s a cafe there called  _ Wolfinnen.  _ Take this.” He says, pressing the keychain into Stiles’ palm. “Give this to Greta.”

“What are you talking about? What is happening?” He can hear Scott calling for him over the gunfire.

“Promise me, Stiles.”

Stiles nods dumbly. 

Suddenly Matt stands up. Before Stiles can grab him and force him back down behind the safety of the couch he watches a bullet hit him square in the chest. Matt hits the ground hard and doesn’t move.

He’s vaguely aware that he’s screaming. He also feels Scott drag him out the back door and into his Jeep. He feels the cool press of the window on his forehead, hears Scott’s voice but can’t register the words. They pull into a familiar abandoned lot on the far end of town when Stiles starts regaining his senses.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

“We need to go to Vienna.”

“What?”

“Vienna. That’s what Matt said. Before he died.”

“Stiles, you’re not making sense. What the fuck happened back there? I heard you get home and then there were gunshots. Matt is  _ dead. _ ”

Stiles looks down at his palm, the key chain still pressed into his palm. He had been squeezing it so hard there’s a rectangular indent in his hands. 

“Matt is -  _ was  _ a CIA agent. We have to take this keychain to Greta in Austria.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I’m not convinced you’re not fully catatonic, but I have enough frequent flyers to get us both there so let’s go.”

They stop at a gas station near the airport. Scott buys them each a pair of sunglasses and a tourist t-shirt. They also buy sixteen different keychains, just in case. They’re able to put their plane tickets on Scott’s credit card and only have to hang around the airport for 4 hours. Thankfully LAX is just as crowded as usual and Stiles can calm his nerves.

He pulls up his message thread with Matt out of habit. The last thing he sent was the picture of his stuff in Stiles’ fire pit. Stiles laughs despite himself and opens the picture. He’s about to lock his phone when he spots it. There, in the top corner of the picture, is the keychain. 

_ I can’t believe I considered having a quicky with Derek and then he tries to murder me over a fucking keychain. _

“Who’s Derek?”

“Some CIA agent who momentarily held me hostage at work this morning.”

“Right.”

Scott is handling this relatively well, Stiles thinks to himself. Although, it’s probably because he thinks Stiles is on some sort of psychotic break.

They make it to Vienna without issue. Stiles is suspicious, but they used Scott’s cards instead of Stiles’ so the bad guys probably haven’t thought to track Scott’s yet. But they will. Because Stiles only has one friend. 

“How will we know who Greta is?” Scott asks, stopping outside the lavish cafe.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”

Scott huffs.

“Sorry I didn’t get all the details from my secret spy ex-boyfriend before he literally died in front of me, Scott.”

“I’m just saying. He didn’t give you much to go on besides a location and a name. It could even be a code name.”

They step inside and Stiles whistles. “We are  _ so  _ underdressed.”

The cafe isn’t a cafe so much as a restaurant. Like, the fanciest restaurant Stiles has ever seen. The mirrored walls reflect the light of the dozen sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. They’re seated almost immediately, the waitress doing her best not to sneer at their attire.

“Alright, so how will Greta know to find us? I mean, won’t she be looking for Matt?”

“Fuck, you’re right. I guess we could ask?”

“That is the literal dumbest idea you’ve ever had.”

Stiles crosses his arms and sits back in his chair. 

“I’ll go do a loop, pretend I’m looking for the bathroom. I’ll see if I can find a name tag or something.”

“Fine.”

The waitress returns with their water. Her name tag reads  _ Freya.  _ Ugh. 

He takes a sip of his water and nearly chokes when Derek sits across from him.

“Give me the keychain, Stiles.”

“Well hello to you, too. You know, if you wanted to take me out on a date, you could’ve just asked.”

He feels the barrel of a gun nudge his knee under the table.

“The keychain.”

“Alright, don’t get trigger happy, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.” Stiles is about to give a witty reply when Derek interrupts him. “The keychain.” He repeats.

“It’s in my suitcase. Try not to shoot me while I reach for it.” He peeks under the table and notices the gun looks decidedly real. He tries to calm his breathing as he zips open the front part of his suitcase and pulls out the keychain. 

He’s about to hand it over when he notices Scott across the room. He’s making wild hand gestures pointing towards the bar. A blonde woman is there cleaning wine glasses.  _ Greta,  _ Scott mouths aggressively. 

“You have about thirty seconds before everyone in here starts shooting so I suggest you hurry it up if you plan on staying alive. Either way, I’ll have the keychain so it doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Fine, catch!” Stiles tosses the keychain into the air. He hears the gun hit the floor as Derek catches the keychain with both hands.

As if on cue, the restaurant erupts into gunfire. Stiles is  _ really  _ getting sick of the sound of guns going off. He throws himself to the ground, looking around wildly to find Scott. The hostess who sat them appears suddenly, taking out three gentlemen who were eating at a nearby table. Where did their guns come from? Why does everybody have a gun except Stiles? The hostess, Jennifer according to her name tag, has her gun pointed at Derek where he lays on the ground and before Stiles can even think about it, he kicks the gun Derek had  _ just  _ been pointing at him towards them. Derek grabs it and Jennifer is dead before Stiles can even blink. 

Greta pops up from behind the bar, machine gun in hand. Stiles isn’t even sure who’s on who’s side because everyone seems to be shooting at each other. They’re not currently shooting at Stiles, though, so he takes that as his chance to flee. He heads towards where he saw Scott duck down behind a podium and finds his friend taking cover behind an horderves platter. They’re about to make it to the exit when a  _ very  _ large man steps into their path. He has a gun, because of course he does. And it’s pointed at Stiles, because of course it is. He’s about to cover his face in a useless defence when the man drops to the ground, a bullet hole evident in his forehead. Stiles whips around to see Derek’s gun pointed there way. Stiles gives a mock army salute and slips out the door behind Scott.

“Do you think we could find someone in Austria to sell me a gun? I’m feeling very disadvantaged.”

Scott stares at him wordlessly. 

“What?”

“What?! We just got shot at,  _ again.  _ And barely made it out alive,  _ again.” _

“Yeah, but Derek totally saved me.”

The gunfire is inaudible from the street, Stiles guesses the restaurant is either soundproof, or everyone inside is dead. He briefly hopes Derek somehow made it out alive but then realizes that means Derek would still be hunting him down. Very conflicting emotions going on, if Stiles is being perfectly honest.

“...What do you think?”

“Huh?”

“Stiles, focus. I said my mom has a friend named Roger in Prague. We could go there and figure out our next move. I haven’t seen him in years, but I don’t think he’d be suspicious.”

“Yeah, okay. Yes, let’s do that.”

“We definitely need to buy some new clothes, and - fuck!”

“What!”

“I just realized before we left I saw Greta bleeding out on the bar. Shit, and the suitcase is still inside. We need to go get it.’

“No we don’t.” Stiles waggles his eyebrows and holds up the keychain.

“What? I saw you toss the keychain to Derek.”

“I tossed  _ a  _ keychain to Derek. It should buy us some time before he notices the Statue of Liberty on it.”

Navigating Austria is hard, but they’re able to find their way to the train station. Thank God Stiles’ dad let him take German his junior year of high school. Take that, Spanish!

“I don’t think we should use my card anymore. We need cash.” Scott says, looking around.

“Are you suggesting we rob somebody?”

“...No.”

“You hesitated! Oh my God, Scott McCall, a pickpocketing thief!”

“That’s redundant.” 

“Shut up, you’re totally gonna rob somebody, aren’t you?”

“No. No! I have like $17 in my wallet, how much do you have?”

Stiles takes out his wallet and counts the sad collection of bills. “I have $8.”

“That’s fine, it should be enough.”

They make it with a few euros to spare, because of course they don’t have any American change. Stiles thinks about making a comment about it but considers himself lucky they took their American currency at all. 

Stiles spends the first half of the 5 hour train ride trying to take a nap. When that doesn’t work, he fishes in his pockets for his phone. It’s still in tact, but the battery’s dead. He pulls out the Arizona keychain and inspects is closely. What the fuck is so important about this keychain? He turns it over in his hands and notices the tiniest notch in one of the edges. He tries to slide the top of the keychain and it gives way with a soft click. Stiles frowns at the contents. He hands the keychain to Scott.

“What’s that?”

“A USB drive. It was in the keychain.”

“I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no.”

“Come on, Scott. We almost died for this thing,  _ twice. _ ” 

“No.”

They make it to Roger’s apartment just after sundown. Stiles feels the USB burning a hole in his pocket. He convinced Scott to let him see what was on it, all he needed was a computer. They ring the doorbell and Roger’s voice sounds over the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Hi, uh, Roger? This is Scott. Scott McCall. Sorry for the short notice but our, uh, our hotel fell through and we were wondering if we could crash here tonight?”

“McCall? Melissa’s kid?”

“Yeah! I’m here with a friend, I hope that’s okay.” 

“Sure. I’ll buzz you two up. It’s apartment 3.”

Before Scott can thank him, the door buzzes. It’s a quick ride in the elevator and then Roger is ushering them into his apartment.

“It’s good to see you, Scott. You’ve grown up a lot. I hardly recognized you.”

“Yeah. You, too. I could’ve sworn you were bald when I was a kid.”

Roger chuckles. “Gotta love  _ Nutrafol.  _ Grew my hair right back!”

Stiles laughs nervously. He feels like something’s off, but it’s probably because they’re standing in some random guy’s living room in a foreign country and hiding from literal CIA assassins. 

“You guys want a drink? I have beer.”

“Sure.” They reply in unison. 

Roger disappears into the kitchen and Stiles shoots Scott a look.

“What?” Scott whispers.

“This guy is weird but I need to use his computer.”

“I don’t know, Stiles.”

“Scott, we need to know what’s-”

“Here you go.” Roger interrupts, handing each boy a beer. Stiles doesn’t recognize the label but he  _ needs  _ to take the edge off so he takes three large gulps. He winces slightly at the bitter taste. Beer in Prague is gross. 

“You boys hungry? I have some leftovers still on the stove.”

“Sure.” Scott answers. “Do you mind if I use the bathroom? I’m feeling a little lightheaded. Long day.”

Stiles gives him a concerned look. “I’ll go with you.” 

Roger points them in the direction of the bathroom and then disappears into another room. Didn’t he say he was going to the kitchen? Stiles can’t remember, his head feels funny. Beer in Prague may be gross, but it’s stronger than American beer. 

Scott has barely made it into the bathroom when he collapses on the ground.

“Scott! Scott, what’s wrong?”

“Stiles...donfeelgood.”

“You’re such a lightweight, stand up.” Stiles reaches down to pick Scott off the ground and somehow finds himself on the ground next to him.

“Scotty, I think Roger drugged our beer.”

“S’not Roger. Bathtub.”

Stiles manages to turn his head around towards the bathtub. He sees a very bloody, very bald head sticking out from behind the curtain. 

“If Roger’s in the bathtub, then who the fuck-”

Not Roger opens the door suddenly and, on instinct, Stiles kicks it closed. He fumbles for the lock and manages to click it into place before Not Roger’s surprise wears off. 

“Scott. Swallow this.”

“You swallow it.”

“You know I have a gag reflex thing. You need to swallow it.”

“Can’t. Too tired.”

“Scott, swallow the fucking flash drive.”

He doesn’t get an answer back because Scott is passed out on the floor.  _ Fuck.  _ Stiles feels the panic start to set in as he feels his own impending unconsciousness and lunges for the toilet. He manages to flush it right before Not Roger kicks open the bathroom door.

“What the fuck did you do-”

Stiles doesn’t even have time to smirk before his vision fades to black. 

Stiles wakes up slowly, vaguely aware of the complete silence around him. His head is pounding and he tries to rub his eyes to relieve the pressure but his arms are bound above his head. He’s...hanging? He opens his eyes slowly and sees his arms tied to a low hanging pipe. Scott’s next to him, still passed out.

“Scott.” He whispers. “Scott, wake up.”

He takes a second to look around. The room is dimly lit, but it looks like a boiler room. There’s a few windows just above ground level letting light into the room. It’s day time, apparently. At least they let him get a good nights’ sleep. 

“Stiles...where are we?”

“I don’t know.” His throat feels dry. 

A door opens behind them, Stiles strains his neck but he can’t see where the door is or who’s entering from it. He hears two sets of footsteps walk slowly down the stairs. His blood runs cold, knowing the fear in Scott’s eyes are mirrored in his own. 

“Stiles.” He shivers. He knows that voice. He spent  _ months  _ trying to impress that voice.

“Mrs. Daehler?!”

“Veronica Argent, actually.”

“So you’re not-”

Veronica interrupt him with a cackle. “Oh, Stiles. Matt was so very fond of you. I was so surprised that he brought you to the negotiation, putting you in harms way like that was so risky. I suppose he knew I’d behave.”

“Negotiation? What are you talking about?”

“For the flash drive, darling. Did you really think he brought you to a ‘meet the parents dinner?’ Oh that’s so sweet.” She cackles again.

“So Mr. Daehler isn’t-”

“Oh, he’s not my husband. He’s my father, Gerard Argent. Matt brought you along as his cover. He was supposed to sell us the flash drive, but we’re not picky about who we buy it from. You’ll do just fine. Chris said you flushed it down the toilet, but I know you’re smarter than that.”

Stiles laughs suddenly. “So...you’re telling me you had your father pose as your fake husband? Thats...that’s really gross, dude.”

Veronica slaps him so hard his eyes water. He laughs through the pain of his stinging cheek. “Sorry to disappoint, but I flushed it.”

“Do you have any idea what was on the drive?”

“I don’t, actually. Not Roger roofied us before i could borrow his laptop.”

Veronica’s face is red with rage, but Gerard looks calm. Scarily calm.

“If he’s as smart as you say, Veronica, then he didn’t flush the drive. Let’s see if our friend can’t help him remember what he really did with it.”

A very scary looking man appears suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere. The closer he gets, the younger Stiles realizes he is. He looks about their age. His eyes are a striking green and his cheekbones are sharp. Stiles would almost call him beautiful if he wasn’t certain this guy was about to literally torture him to death. 

“Jackson.” Gerard’s voice sends a shiver up Stiles’ spine. He looks over at Scott, noticing how quiet he’s been. He’s frozen with fear, Stiles notices the tell tale signs of a panic attack almost immediately. 

“Scott. Breathe, buddy. Scott you need to breathe.”

Jackson takes a step towards him. “If he doesn’t tell you where the drive is,” Gerard instructs. “See if the quiet one knows anything.” Scott wimpers.

“I already told you I fucking flushed it.” 

Gerard smiles menacingly at him before disappearing behind him. He hears Veronica and Gerard shuffle up the steps and lock the door behind them. 

Something moves past the window, making the light in the room dim for the slightest of moments. By the time Stiles looks, nothing’s there. And then Jackson’s fist collides with his face.

“Ow, fuck!”

“Where is the drive?”

“Go check the fucking sewers where you and your weird ass parents belong.”

Jackson punches him again and he can taste the blood in his mouth from his split lip. 

“Where is it.”

Stiles spits, it’s more blood than saliva. “Tell me what country we’re in and I’ll say it in your native language.” Another hit, this time in the stomach. Stiles gasps for air. “Is your accent Russian?  _ Stochnaya truba. _ ”

Jackson lifts his arm in preparation for another punch. Stiles closes his eyes and briefly wonders where Jackson’s going to hit him this time, but the hit never comes. He opens his eyes slowly and Jackson is looking at him wide eyed, before falling to the floor. As he falls, Stiles sees a person behind him.

“Holy shit.”

“Are you okay?” Derek asks him, already untying his hands.

“I’m fine, Scott’s having a panic attack and I’m not sure he’s breathing.”

“I’ll get Scott, I need you to crawl out of the far left window. MI6 is going to bomb this place to the ground in about 30 seconds.”

“They’re -  _ what _ ?!”

“Stiles, go!”

Stiles scrambles to the window and manages to push himself up and out the window. His arms feel like jelly but the adrenaline is enough to get him through the window. He turns around to help Derek with Scott but he doesn’t see them. He’s about to call out to them but he hears a plane overhead. 

“Fuck. Fucking, fuck. Shit.” He runs away from the building, he can hear the explosions happening behind him and propelling him forward. He lands face first in the cold grass and blacks out.

He wakes up in a bed in a very white room. It’s blinding how white the room is, the fluorescent lights reflecting off of every surface. He squints and sees Scott in the bed next to him. He seems to be breathing and Stiles sighs in relief before falling back to sleep.

He wakes up for a second time, it feels like he’s been sleeping for days. His body aches, and his throat is dry, and his eyes feel heavy.

A soft knock comes from the door before it opens. A beautiful brunette woman enters the room. “Stiles? How are you feeling?”

“That depends. Are you the assholes that tried to bomb me to death?”

Scott chuckles beside him. “I told you he was aggressive.”

“Wow Scott, I’m so glad you recovered quickly enough to have time to talk about me while I was too busy recovering from getting  _ bombed. _ ”

“And dramatic.” Scott smirked. 

“Stiles, I’d like to apologize. My name is Kira Yukimura. I was given the all clear that Peter had rescued you from the building before I ordered the air strike.”

“Peter? No, it was Derek who-”

“I know. I was given bad intell and I apologize.”

“Okay, so, um, are you like the boss or something?”

“I am.” Kira smiles sweetly.

“So you know, uh, knew Matt?”

“I knew of hi,, yes. He was a very good agent.”

“Right, yeah.” He feels tears prick at his eyes. “Could I get a water, please?”

The door opens again to reveal Derek, water pitcher in hand.

“Since you’re both refreshed and in better health, Derek is going to drive you to the airport. We’ve given you complimentary first class tickets back to America.”

“Oh, thank God.” Scott sighs in relief. “I thought you were going to try and recruit us.”

Derek snorts.

“I’m sorry?” Kira asks, confused.

“Well, I mean. Recruit Stiles, at least. I mean he survived being tortured by a Russian assassin without giving up secret information.”

Derek rolls his eyes as Kira looks at him curiously. “So you didn’t flush the flash drive?”

“No, I did.” Stiles says sullenly. “So technically I gave up the secret information before Jackson even punched me.”

“Jackson Whittemore?”

“Uh, sure? Green eyes, killer cheekbones? Pretty enough to make you forget he could kill you?”

“He’s a former MI6 agent. I didn’t realize he was working with Gerard again. He was considered to be Killed in Action.”

“Oh.” Stiles feels awkward. “Well, he’s definitely alive and definitely working with the Argents.”

“Argents? As in plural?”

“Yeah, Veronica and Gerard. Also, Chris killed Scott’s family friend, Roger, in Prague so you might wanna get that cleaned up.”

Kira shoots Derek a look. 

“I didn’t know any of that.” Derek speaks, finally.

Kira sighs. “I’ll leave you to get ready for the airport.”

Stiles sits shotgun, he tells himself it’s because he wants to let Scott lay down in the backseat, but really it’s because he wants to talk to Derek. Even though Derek decidedly does not want to talk to him.

“So, you like, saved me.”

“And me!” Scott adds.

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Stiles coughs awkwardly. 

“So, did you catch the bad guys? Is that why you have time to drive us to the airport?”

“No.”

“Oh? So, like, why are you-”

“I was placed on leave.”

“ _ What _ ?!” Stiles and Scott shout in unison.

“For what?” Stiles asks, exasperated. “Saving us?”

“Disobeying orders.”

“What do you mean disobeying orders? Your orders weren’t to save us?”

“Peter told Kira that Gerard was the only one left in the building. I knew you, uh, both of you, were still in there so I went to get you. Kira told me not to. I went anyway. Now I’m on leave. Indefinitely.” He practically growls the last word, his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“Damn, dude. I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, me and Scott are  _ really  _ grateful that you saved us, right Scott?”

“Yes!”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“What if I told you…” Stiles trails off. He eyes Derek carefully.

“Told me what?”

“What if I told you that I, uh, didn’t necessarily, maybe, possibly, um-”

“Spit it out, Stiles.” Derek growls again.

“I didn’t flush the flash drive.”

Derek hits the breaks and swerves the car onto the side of the road. “What?!” His eyebrows are definitely pointing a gun at him again. 

“Stiles. I didn’t swallow it, you know that, right?”

“I know, Scott.” He can feel his face heat up with embarrassment. 

“Where is it?”

“It’s, uh.”

“Stiles.” Derek warns.

“I maybe hid it in my, um, you know.”

“What?” Derek asks, at the same time Scott whispers “No.”

“My ass, okay! I hid it in my ass.”

Derek chokes and he can hear Scott try and cover up his laughter. “Oh my God, Stiles. Tell me you didn’t.”

“You wouldn’t swallow it! And I want to know what’s on it! I couldn’t flush it without knowing why people were killing us for it.”

“Give it to me.”

“Take me to dinner first, Derek.” Derek glares at him. “Okay, well I’m not taking it out right here so you’re going to have to find me a bathroom or a bush or something.”

Derek motions to the woods on the side of the road.

“How romantic.” Stiles mutters, climbing out of the car. He returns, moments later, flash drive in hand. “You’re lucky I’ve barely eaten anything in the last few days.”

“Ew, Stiles.”

Derek doesn’t even flinch when Stiles places the flash drive in his hand.

“Are you going to give it to Kira?” Stiles asks, not sure why the thought makes him nervous.

“Not before I find out what’s on it.”

“We could call Lydia.” Scott suggests.

“Scott, no.”

“Who’s Lydia?”

“The love of Stiles’ life and also the smartest person we know.”

Stiles groans. “We are  _ not  _ calling Lydia.”

They call Lydia.

“You guys know you’re like, all over the news, right?” Lydia informs them. “Stiles, your dad is going crazy looking for you. And Scott, your mom has visited every morgue in a hundred mile radius looking for your dead body.” They both wince.

“Lyds, listen. We don’t have long before MI6 realizes we didn’t board our plane and start looking for us. We need you to help us hack into this flashdrive.”

“MI6? Stiles, what the fuck.”

“I know. I know, okay?” 

“Give me your location and IP address and I’ll see what I can do.”

“I fucking love you.” Stiles announces. 

Derek grabs the phone and gives Lydia the necessary information. It’s not five minutes later before they’re in.

“Holy shit.” Lydia whispers into the phone. “Stiles, what-”

“Lydia, go off the grid. Tell my dad and Melissa that we’re alive but tell them to keep looking like they don’t know a thing. I’ll call you in a few days.”

“Be careful. Scott, you’re in charge.” 

Scott smiles as Derek ends the call. “Derek, is that what I think it is?”

“That depends, do you think it’s a list of every person in politics around the world, along with all of their information, including addresses, social security numbers, family lineages, and constantly updated locations?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Then yes.”

“This is like, really bad. Why would MI6 want this? Why would the CIA want this? Why did Matt have this?” Stiles feels like he’s hyperventilating. 

“If I knew any of the answers to those questions, I wouldn’t need you.”

“Aww, Der. You need me?”

“Call me Der again and I’m not paying for your room.”

“We’re getting a hotel?”

Derek smirks. “Something like that.”

They get a room in a  _ very  _ run down hostel in Amsterdam. The three of them room with a very large German man who speaks very little English. He introduces himself as Alaric and claims a bed farthest from the door. Stiles smiles at him because this guy could totally take Derek in a fight. Which is saying something because Derek is pretty muscular. Big and muscular and tall and, okay, Stiles needs to stop. 

“Tomorrow I’ll arrange a meeting with Deaton. He has connections to all sort of shady people and I’ll see what he knows. Stiles, I’ll need you there as part of my cover. You’re going to be my hostage.”

“If you want to tie me up, Derek, you only need to ask.”

Derek sighs. “Let’s just go to bed. We’ll run through the plan again tomorrow.”

Stiles suddenly feels something cool on his neck at the bottom of his skull.

“What plan?”

“Peter, what are you doing?” Derek steps forward and Stiles hears Peter release the safety on the gun.

“Kira sent me after Dumb and Dumber here didn’t board their plane. Can’t say I’m surprised to find you with them. You always had poor taste in company. Remember Kate?”

Derek growls. 

“Sorry, am I Dumb or Dumber in this situation?” Stiles interjects, trying to diffuse the situation. There’s no way Peter would shoot his nephew, right?

“That depends, are you going to give me the drive?” Stiles opens his mouth to respond. “If you tell me you flushed it down the toilet I will blow your fucking brains out.”

Derek inches forward. “Careful, nephew. A moment too slow and you’ll be cleaning his brains off the floor.”

Stiles closes his eyes and then there’s a sickening  _ thud  _ behind him. Their German roommate is standing there, having hit Peter over the head with one of his shoes. Peter is lying lifeless on the floor.

“Is he, uh.”

“He’s dead.” Derek says monotone.

“Derek, I’m sorry. That was your uncle. Are you-”

“He was going to kill you, and then me, probably. I’m also pretty sure he was working with Gerard and the Russians to get the drive, so it’s probably for the best. Good job, Alaric.”

“He was robber, no?”

“Yes, very good.” Stiles assures him, giving him a thumbs up. Alaric returns the thumbs up enthusiastically and then climbs into his bed and promptly falls asleep.

Peter’s phone dings twice and Scott looks at Stiles.

“Go ahead, Scott.”

“I’m not going anywhere near him. Derek, he was your uncle, you do it.”

“Scott! That’s rude. I’ll get it.” He hesitates for a second before bending down quickly and ripping the phone from Peter’s pocket. “There’s a text that says  _ Did you get the package?  _ What should I say?”

“Nothing.” Derek says, grabbing the phone from his hand.

“Say yes.” Scott suggests.

Derek types the message and hits send. A reply comes back immediately.

“It’s an address in Berlin and a password to get in.” He holds up the phone to confirm.

“Have fun with that.” Stiles scoffs. “Scott and I are going home.”

“Stiles.”

“No, Scott. I’ve been held at gunpoint too many times, and for what? We’re not secret agents. We’re two semi-functioning adults that got caught up in all this shit because of my asshole ex-boyfriend. We are done. We’re exchanging our first class tickets for the next flight out of here.”

“It’s fine.” Derek says, face blank. “He’s right. You guys have been through a lot and I can handle it from here.”

“Are you sure?” Scott asks hesitantly. 

“In all honesty, I probably would have been able to complete the mission  _ and _ keep my job if you two hadn’t been involved in the first place.”

“Is that so?” Stiles scoffs.

“No offense, but you said it yourself. You two aren’t exactly spy material.”

“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.” Stiles rolls his eyes and begins stuffing his belongings into a bag.

Derek shrugs. “I’m not doing anything. I’m just saying that all you’ve really done is get in my way and derail my mission because I keep getting sidetracked saving you.”

Stiles’ face turns an impressive shade of red. “ _ We  _ got in  _ your  _ way?  We didn’t want to be involved in this in the first place! If anything, you got in  _ our  _ way of trying not to be in your way.” Scott looks at him with a confused look on his face. He doesn’t even turn to look at Derek. “Shut up. We’re going to Berlin and then we’re going the fuck home and then we’re never going to have to look Derek’s stupid eyebrows ever again.”

_ Stupid eyebrows?  _ Derek mouths. Scott shrugs in response. 

They board their flight to Berlin and Stiles fumes the whole way there.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments? Kudos? Violently apparent issues I need to fix?


End file.
